


Let There be Light

by Tired_Penguin



Category: Night at the Museum (Movies)
Genre: And something that I guess might be called dysphoria? Maybe?, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, Here's some trauma, Hive Mind, How Do I Tag, I don't pecking know man, Like there's some major feels here, This is kinda existential?, Uh..., What the peck is this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 18:53:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29921313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tired_Penguin/pseuds/Tired_Penguin
Summary: On the first night, there was light, and with it, came awareness.-------Explores a brief what if theory I had that maybe the process of the tablet bringing them to life was... a lot slower than it's implied to be. Ignore the fact it's instant in the second movie, I had a potential explanation for that but that would require writing more for this and I am not doing that.Also, letting you "no tag reading we die like men" folks know, this is very existential. Don't die. Please. Dying is bad for your health.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	Let There be Light

On the first night, there was light, and with it, came awareness.

They had no way of knowing how long the light had been there, for they could remember nothing from before it. The bright golden glow was the very first thing any of them had ever seen. 

At that moment, they almost thought it would be their last. 

The light, on that very first night, was painful. It was painful in a way that none of them would have been able to explain afterward, but it was painful nonetheless. When reflecting on it later, some of them would almost call it the feeling of being rearranged, torn apart, shifted and melted into something they were never meant to be. In hindsight, that description made a lot of sense, but that was nothing any of them would ever let outside of their own heads. 

The pain, fortunately, lasted only a moment. When the light faded, it left in its place, sight. The images were incomprehensible at the time; nothing more than a series of lights and colors, but it was sight nonetheless. 

Only then did they realize, with a dawning flood of being, that they were thinking, and that they had never thought before.

It was then, in that fateful instance, in one heaving motion, that every single form of human, animal, and stone, and that the very museum itself, breathed.

On the first night, there was life.

Movement was slow and tentative. It was remarkable in every way. It felt so wrong and yet so perfect. There was little they could manage to do, however. They had sight, but no comprehension of the images. They had hearing, but no understanding of the sounds. 

But there was one sound. Voices, they could tell. With little else to do, they followed it, all as one parade through the bronze and hollow halls. They moved as one, on that night. Their individuality was a further awareness that had not yet been given to them. 

Years later, if one asked if they had thought as one as well, some would have refused the notion outright. The braver and more honest ones, however, would say with a shudder that they had.

The sound led them to one of the back rooms of the museum. The window could only suit one pair of eyes, but it was enough for them to see in. There were people, a fact only recognized by some of them being “people” as well. Three men, with things they would later realize were cards. They were talking, saying things that they could recognize as words, but were unable to understand all the same. 

With this, came their very first desire; the desire to meet these people.

The door to the break room stood little chance against their parade, even without the mammoth. Their game was quickly forgotten, and fear stained their faces. But they had no way of knowing what fear was, at the time. They pushed closer, wanting desperately to speak the same words as them. Perhaps, that way they could know what they were. 

They were denied.

They were further than denied; they were rejected. The night guards screamed at them, fought them back, yelled words they couldn’t understand, but that hurt all the same. They were pushed back, slammed on all sides, overwhelmed on all accounts.

Until they realized; they could take down a door. Surely, they could take three people. 

So they fought.

They won. Decisively. With all their controlled, like-minded, and growing furious combined power of mammoths, lions, guns, swords, gathered cannons, darts, and every single fist, foot, and blunt object they could gather in their shambled movement, they turned the guards right back into their tiny room until the men could only slam the door between them. At this point, they knew full well they could take down the door. They realized, however, that as long as the door was up, neither of them could hurt each other. So, they left it, sitting watch in front of the shattered glass window, watching them pace with unbridled panic, until the sun rose hours later.

That moment had brought the second desire; the desire to fight.

\---------------------------------------------

On the second night, there was hearing. 

They could hear the first night, but it was no more than noises and sounds. On the second night, came comprehension of these sounds. When the guards began to speak, and they realized those words they had heard the first night had real meaning, it gave them joy for the first time. 

What they heard that night, almost made them wish they hadn’t been able to. 

The violence they had seen the first night had not tamed, and, if anything, had only grown. This time, the guards had the advantage of being there before they awoke. Once they tried to move, they found they had been tied down, separated by glass, and chains, and locks. 

The men laughed. They laughed with pride and said their words. Words they would be unable to remember, but they would always remember what it made them feel; 

Anger.

For the first time, they felt anger, fury, burning hot enough that they could have melted their own wax. 

That night, they discovered how that anger could fuel the desire to fight. 

Years later, if asked to describe that night, many of them would simply hold their heads. Inside, they’d have a thousand words to say about what happened, and none of them good. They would wish that they had known sooner how horrible it was, how destructive that mindless anger could be. 

On the outside, however, almost all of them would have the same thing to say: 

“It’s a wonder those guards made it out alive.” 

\---------------------------------------------

On the third night, there was individuality. 

It was unintentional, unexpected, surprising, startling, and many other words of a similar vein. A few of them would have been willing to put “scary” or even “terrifying” in that list of words as well, at least at the time.

They spent that night alone. The guards, after seeing their violent rage the night before, had resolved to preemptively lock themselves in the break room. They didn’t mind, of course, as long as the men didn’t intend to come out and start battering them again anytime soon, they were willing enough to leave them be. 

In hindsight, they supposed it wasn’t too surprising for something to happen that night. With them being left alone, to their own hive-minded, albeit fraying, selves. Something was bound to happen. 

They were simply walking through the halls. Every one of them (that could walk, anyways), all taking the same steps, from the largest exhibits to the miniatures. Through every hall, in circles and circles. 

It was boring, yes, but boredom wasn’t one of their top concerns at the time. 

Perhaps their mind had slipped, from all the circling. A crack in their already fraying mentality that was the only thing holding them together back then. A single hairline fracture that, once one of the more free-spirited of them reached it, gave way to an explosive shatter. 

It was just a single small crack. While walking, perfectly in step, all of a sudden, they felt something slip, like a piece of their mind had fallen out of place and collapsed in a glassy-sounding clink.

Someone had stepped out of line. 

All as one, they turned, towards the very back of their parading march, they all turned except one.

Dexter stood at the very back, staring straight at them.

None of them knew what to do. How could they have? They hadn’t believed it was possible. Nothing had told them it wasn’t possible, and they had only been alive for two nights, but it was just something they’d immediately accepted; when one of them moved, they all moved, and that was that. 

But Dexter stared at them, unblinking, his thoughts inaccessible, torn from them by the single misstep.

Then, they felt it again. That glassy clink, as a Neanderthal lifted a hand.

Suddenly, with a ringing audible only to them, the museum filled with the sound of shattering, ear-splitting, mind-splitting, glass.

They screamed that night, the first sound they’d ever made, but it was unheard over the sound of minds breaking. 

The guards would emerge when the sun rose to find many of them had fallen to the floor, curled with the distinct frozen look of agony. 

\---------------------------------------------

On the fourth night, there were memories. 

To them, no time had passed between the calamity of the night before, to sudden silence, life filling them again, but with the clear feeling of emptiness. Loneliness. Only their thoughts to keep them company, without the subtle hum of many other beings and minds.

The guards came through carefully that night, but they did not move from their displays. They had no desire to. They didn’t even look at each other. They wouldn’t have anyway, even without the racing, chasing, heart-pounding feeling of memories flooding into the empty space left behind. 

It was worse for some than others. Some remembered happier, more innocent things. Many of them would come to be somewhat jealous of the animals for this; the ones who did not have to remember battles, wars, blood, and the distinct feeling of having a family. Knowing people they'd been connected to, people they loved, a life they loved, all the things (they thought) they had done. 

That was the night they learned they could cry.

While the experience that night was different for all of them, there was one feeling, one burning question that, at least all the humans of them, shared;

What happened to us?

\---------------------------------------------

On the fifth night, there was voice.

It did not come with fanfare or warning of any sort. It simply came when the sun fell that night, the light of the Tablet came through as it had for all four nights before, and suddenly there was a new sound when one of them realized their internal thoughts were not quite so internal. 

The museum came alive again that night, in a way quite different from how it had the first night. They talked to each other, sharing those words that had meaning and life and it made some of them feel like themselves again. They even hugged each other.

The guards didn’t come out that night. Some of them thought it was because they were scared of the noises and confused it for another uprising.

Everything from the past nights was forgotten like a faded nightmare. Some of them could see it linger in a few of their eyes at first, but it drifted away in favor of the wonders of voice. 

That night, they all agreed to never discuss the third night again. 

Teddy got a glimpse of the girl in the glass. 

He saw her mouth to herself while watching the others cheer.

He couldn’t get past the solemn look in her eyes. 

He felt....nervous. He couldn’t recall really feeling that way before; not in any of the memories he had, at least. 

He was about to walk towards the glass when an overenthusiastic hand pulled him back into the fray.

\---------------------------------------------

On the sixth night, there was war.

The guards were standing in front of the desk when night fell. Rexy, (as they’d dubbed the enthusiastic skeleton the night before), was tied to his display, falling with a clatter of bones the second he moved, and letting out a pained whine from the tightness of the ropes. 

That alone made many of them ready to kill those guards.

They all gathered in the front room, hesitating only because of the firm, unwavering stance the three held. The small one glared with eyes that could murder all on their own. The tall one glared as well, but less with malice, and with a look that said something more along the lines of ‘don’t move a muscle or I’m calling your mother’ which, despite the fact that none of them had one at the moment, was still a threatening stance.

The man in the middle scared them most, however. He just smiled. 

He smiled with a gleam in his eye like the shine of a sharpened blade.

Once they all were in the front room, the man in the middle stepped up and lifted the intercom. 

“Now, listen up.” 

The voice was loud; far too loud for their still sensitive hearing, and while that idea got along perfectly well from the pained cries and hands snapping to their ears, the Mayans made this known by reading their dart guns. 

Unfortunately, the guards were quicker than they were.

The small one picked up his flashlight and shined it in the miniature's eyes. They stumbled, falling off their perch on one of the counters.

Teddy, personally, had a grievance with that. “Now that was unnecessary, young man. That was far too loud, and they were simply making that known.”

The three all looked at him as if they’d seen a ghost, and it occurred to him that they must not have known they could speak yet. The middle man pushed past his shock, and slowly set down the phone.

He cleared his throat, casting a glance at all the gathered figures. “...As I was saying. First, my name’s Cecil. Shortie’s Gus, this guy’s Reginald. Now, I feel the need to clear up a few things.”

Everyone was glaring at him with the full willingness to attack him given the reason and the opportunity. Seeming aware of this Cecil took a step back, and motioned for the other two guards to do the same. 

“I know that our first couple of nights together haven’t gone on entirely friendly terms.”

Jedediah scoffed, but not loud enough for the guards to hear. “Yeah, no kidding, why I oughta-”

“But, I think I must be honest with you all about one thing…” He clasped his hands together and looked at them all again, hoping they had relaxed a bit, but to no avail. Despite this discouragement, he continued. “...I have no idea why you all are here.”

That was one of the last things they wanted to hear.

This time, Jedediah did not keep his voice quiet. “ExcUSE ME!” His hand went to his gun for a moment, but pulled back. He’d already figured out it didn’t work, but that didn’t stop him from pointing a threatening millimeter finger at the guard. “No, no, nuh-uh. That ain’t cuttin’ it, Mister! We want answers, alright! And ‘Ah have no idea’ is NOT a frickin’ answer!” 

Cecil narrowed his eyes at him, a crease finding its way to one of his eyebrows. Gus grabbed the flashlight again, and Jedediah gave a faint, hardly noticeable flinch before Cecil motioned to put down the light. 

He looked back at Jedediah, and took a breath to start to speak, stopped, then started again, looking more curious by the moment. “You want answers, you say?”

“You bet your britches we do!” 

Cecil blinked a moment. “I’m sorry, but, ah...to what, exactly?”

They all had a start at this. Glances of “the heck is with this guy”, were shared. Words of “the heck is with this guy” were shared. And Jedediah…

Jedediah looked pissed. 

“Are...you...kiddin’ me? You seriously just asked that?” He stepped further around the counter, the spurs of his boots clinking against the top in a sincere attempt to sound threatening. 

“You REALLY just asked that question? You, you...are you BLIND!!” He was right in front of the guards now, teeth bared, eyebrows furrowed and looking ready to stab an eye out.

Cecil...Cecil looked completely oblivious. “No...No, I’m not blind. I’m really curious here now, what-what questions do you all have that’s so dramatic then, huh?” He turned around to gesture at everyone in the room again, before settling back on Jedediah, all the while grinning in a way that made it frustratingly hard to tell whether he was actually oblivious, or if he was purposefully annoying them. 

By the time Cecil turned back to him, Jedediah motioned one of the cavemen over to shove him directly in the back so he was leaning over the counter. 

Jed looked him dead in the eye, unholstered his gun for dramatic effect, pointed it directly at his face, and with all the fiery rage he could muster, enough to remind them of the combined fury of the second night, and yelled, 

“I. AM. TINY!!” 

Cecil…

Cecil blinked.

He pulled back, staring wide-eyed down at the five-inch cowboy, while Gus and Reginald stared between him and each other, and pulled a hand to his face. He spoke softly, a subtle waver to his words. “This...this could be a problem.”

Jedediah’s gun faltered, as a string of nerves coursed through the entire room. His words were slow, showing more than anything how shaken he was. “...Would you care to explain jus’ what you mean by that?” 

Cecil took another step back, and turned away, pacing back to where Rexy still lay, watching the man intently. He stared up at the T-rex, his face obscured, before slowing facing back to them. He muttered under his breath in a voice he didn't expect them to hear. “You all really don’t know do you…”

Octavius stepped forwards from the other side of the desk, his stance sullen. “And what, pray tell, don’t we know?”

Cecil looked up with a start, confirming their suspicion that he had not wanted them to hear that. His eyes darted between them all, looking to the two other guards for some sort of help.

Gus shrugged. “Hey, you’re on your own, buddy. You were the one who wanted to talk to ‘em.”

Reginald nodded in agreement at his side. 

Cecil pulled his head into his hands again, before standing. He breathed, straightened his tie, and committed.

“Alright then. I will answer what I can if you all can answer something for me.”

They all nodded. They just wanted answers sooner rather than later.

He clasped his fingers together again and took a deep breath. “What do you think you are?”

The room went deathly quiet, the silence falling like a cloak over the room until not even breathing could be heard. 

Cecil looked around him, realizing he wasn’t going to get an answer anytime soon. “Okay, I know that that’s a weird question, but...please, just tell me, honestly.”

When the silence did not lift, Teddy, hesitantly (him being hesitant still didn’t feel quite right), stepped forward. Cecil met his eyes, and he felt his breathing slow, but he forced himself to choke out his words. 

“...We...well...those of us that...clearly are, at least...we are human…and those that look as such are animals...and even the miniatures, as you call them, they are supposed to be human as well...”

Cecil stared at him, that crease going into his eyebrows again. Teddy found himself asking a question he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer to.

“...Are we not?”

Cecil closed his eyes and leaned against a wall that was not there. His hands now completely covered his face. The coursing nervousness was flowing like a shockwave now. Restlessness grew. The cavemen, despite still lacking that understanding, began to feel it too. A glance over saw Jedidiah grow paler by the minute, and if one were to look closely, they would see that Octavious' clenched knuckles were white as snow. 

After what felt like an eternity, Cecil’s face emerged from his hands. “I...I don’t know what got it into your heads...but…” His eyebrows furrowed into deep creases on his forehead, and, in a desperate need to get his words out, he forced them out. “No. You’re wrong. You’re not, you got it? I don’t want to say it again. You’ve got the memories of who you look like, I guess!” He threw his hands up, the forced aggravation growing into real anger. “But that, those memories, they’re not yours! They’re…borrowed! I’ll tell you what you all are; you’re MUSEUM exhibits! You heard that right! Wax and wood and stuff ‘n’ fluff!” He stepped forward again, pointing down the back halls. “You guys know that Tablet thingy that was brought in? Big gold thing, ya couldn’t have missed it. That’s why! That’s why you’re here! That damn Tablet’s been glowing every night at sundown and when it does you all spring up here being ALIVE and junk!! It’s annoying! And now, you all are looking to me for answers to why you think you’re supposed to be really alive! News flash: I don’t GOT no answers for ya besides that. So if you don’t like it; TUF!”

His breathing had quickened in the middle of his rant, and now it slowed, his shoulders falling down again. He seemed to relax after his outburst...until he saw their faces. 

They had not liked Cecil from the moment they saw him. That was one thing they could agree on, even now. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if he’d told them outright, a few of them thought. But for him to know this, and wait all these nights to tell them that they’re living...that they are lies. 

They did not like Cecil. 

They did not like him one bit.

A single small clink broke the silence, as Jed stepped forward, slowly, foot by foot until he stood at the very edge of the desk. He lifted his head, a shadow cast by the brim of his hat, only showing the venom in his eyes. He slowly raised his gun, and said in the quietest voice he had ever spoken in, and would ever speak in again, 

“You’re a damn liar.”

Octavius was no longer behind him. He was now in front of the desk, surrounded by his army. 

The cannons fired. 

\---------------------------------------------

On the seventh night, there was realization. 

The carnage from the night before still lay strewn about the museum. If the faded glints of memory they had from during the day were true, they would have to close the museum for a few more nights while things got cleaned up. It was understandable. A few banisters had been shattered, the floor was lined with scorch marks, glass was everywhere. It was horrific, really, rivaling even the battle of the second night.

What was more horrific was how the night guards had left the building that morning.

If their assumption was correct, they wouldn’t be seeing them for a few more nights while they recovered in the nearest emergency clinic. 

That was more than okay with them, of course.

It was a pity they couldn’t enjoy the moment.

The night before, after the fight was more or less over, just as the sun had started to rise, Dexter had grabbed the keys and unlocked the front doors, opening them wide into the streets. The first to run out had been some cavemen. A few animals had come after them, and a couple of the huns had been brave enough to ride the lions. 

Their bravery.

It was sickening, thinking of it now.

The last thing that those remaining had seen, as the golden glow rose over the horizon, was their companions...crumbling like ash.

That was the last thing they saw, before they drifted back into that daylight sleep, and awoke with a cold rush...to memories. Memories, like a faded dream…

More like a nightmare. 

The distinct feeling...of melted wax. 

Of plush stuffing. 

Of carved wood. 

Of factories. 

Jedidiah had to be stopped from thrusting himself into a candle to prove it wrong.

His foot had melted. 

He didn’t speak for the next four nights. 

Teddy could feel the moldable bits where there should have been soft flesh, and his horse’s fur didn’t feel quite like it did in those memories.

Atilla cried. Only one person actually saw, and they nearly got stabbed through the gut. 

…

They didn’t have guts.

They had stuffing. They had wax. They had wood. Some of them had metal. 

Their memories were lies given to them by something that brought them to life when they had no right to be.

What did they ever do to deserve life?

Nothing. 

\---------------------------------------------

On the nineteenth-thousandth, seven-hundredth, forty-seventh night, there was light. 

It was a light not unlike that which they saw the very first night, all those years ago, except this light did not come with pain. It came with vigor, enthusiasm, a passion of life that seemed to even surprise the source itself. 

It was a warm light. It was warm like the life they imitated but could never fully achieve. Bright like the Tablet, but not blinding. In the same way as that very first light, it gave them life. But this time...they could honestly say they were worthy of it. 

It was a light they would cherish every time night fell, and it was a light that, as long as they had a say in the matter, they would never let go of.

But they’d never tell Larry that. 

He didn’t have to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't ask me what this is. I don't pecking know. I hope you liked it though! I like it. Maybe more than I should. Here have a cookie as a parting gift.


End file.
